Promenade to Fate
by Wends
Summary: AU Late in the 20th century, a millennia old ghost story becomes more personal than young doctor Quatre Winner could ever have suspected it could. [QT, HQ, rated for slightly disturbing imagery]
1. Chapter I

Disclaimers: Don't own Gundam Wing. Don't own idea. Just writing the fic.

Oh, and don't mind the weird squiggly thing that appears throughout the story - it's a page break. :) Lame, I know, but it works.

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Light tourmaline eyes roved the streets, taking in every detail with a quick and astutely professional aire. Slightly narrowed, they watched as people slowly meandered from store to store, hefting large bags and laughing and chatting as they met with familiar people.

It was a bright, sunny afternoon in the small German village, the sunlight softly soaking the land in warmth and splendid color, the gentle breeze swirling about the buildings and down the streets to carry the fresh scent of spring-time grasses and newly blossomed flowers upon its tendrils. Beveled glass windows scattered rainbows upon the dusty ground that was stirred by the feet of passers-by, while the stores behind those windows beckoned to shoppers with their beautifully made crafts and doilies and delicious scents of freshly made bread and strong coffees.

A small, welcoming town lounging lazily under the light of a spring sun – just the thing to get a man to relax and enjoy the calm flow of an unburdened life. This was the reason the two travelers had come to this town. Striving to escape the harried, hassled life they'd led in the Americas, running away from the huge city of New York they'd previously lived in, Quatre Raberba Winner and his companion, Trowa Barton, had found themselves in this small, nondescript country village in the most remote countryside that Germany had to offer, sitting nearly two hundred miles out of the capital city of Berlin.

Smiling softly at his partner, Trowa nodded. "This is exactly what we need," he commented. "You should be able to relax here."

With a slight frown, the blonde looked up at his partner. "We'll see about that after I check out the facilities."

Trowa's smile faded as he shook his head. "I still can't believe you're intending to work."

"One of us has to bring in money, otherwise we won't be able to afford the house you insisted we rent."

Shaking his head, the emerald-eyed man simply pushed his hands into his pockets and followed his blonde partner down the dusty, unpaved street as he made his way purposefully to the lone doctoral office the small village held.

It was a small one-story building, its front windows huge and inviting, the lobby beyond a homily decorated, dark den that smelled faintly of aging fabrics and peroxide. Five plush chairs sat around a knee-height table that held a few outdated magazines on its surface, all situated near the dark fireplace.

Quatre glanced about, an arched eyebrow denoting his questionable approval of the surroundings he was in. "Interesting. A little homey for a hospital, don't you think?"

"These people are lucky to have a hospital in a village this size, Quatre. Think you could be a little less critical?"

"Sorry," the blonde snorted softly. "I'm used to home."

"That's not home anymore. This is."

Quatre shook his head. "Not for awhile, it won't be." Sweeping past his partner, he leaned against what he took to be the receptionist's desk and drummed his fingers upon its surface. "And their service is quite lacking."

"Ringing the bell might help, Quatre."

A snort escaped his thin frame as he lightly punched the bell. He arched a brow incredulously as a man in a white lab coat met him. "I take it you don't have a receptionist?"

A friendly smile took the older man's lips as he replied in thick, accented English, "No, we don't. You are new to this town, are you?"

Glancing down at the man's nametag, Quatre smirked. "Herr VonSchteik, I'm Quatre Raberba Winner. Your new doctor."

"Ah! Welcome, Herr Winner. I take it you've had time to wander the town a bit?"

"I have. It doesn't take long."

Trowa simply watched as his companion was taken behind the counter and into the rooms beyond that made up the small office's working spaces. Shrugging once, he slipped into one of the large plush chairs and picked up a magazine, staring at the words, slowly translating them from German to English in his mind as he poured over them with a slender finger leading his eyes.

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Quatre stretched as he walked along side of Trowa, his eyes closed.

"So it met with your standards, Quatre?" Trowa asked quietly.

"Primitive, almost to a fault. But I should be able to work around that."

The two of them walked in relative silence to a small coffee shop. Walking in, they seated themselves at one of the round oak tables held within its dark confines. Trowa got up a few moments later to order for them, after receiving the order for 'something dark, strong and unsweetened. And a chunk of that chocolate they serve' from his partner.

As Quatre leaned back in his chair, he closed his eyes again, listening to the conversations around him, frowning as he attempted to catch every word uttered and understand their meanings.

The people behind him were whispering in a hushed voice about the appearance of a specter just outside of town.

Turning in his chair, he cracked open one eye, looking at the two men that sat stooped over their coffee mugs, speaking to one another urgently.

"What's this nonsense about a ghost?" Quatre dared to interrupt, his dark aquamarine eyes glittering with skepticism in the faint light that flowed through the dark coffeehouse's warm interior.

The pair looked up and stared at him almost incredulously. "Are you meaning to say that you've never heard the legend of the ghost who haunts these parts?" one asked, a brow arched in amazement.

"You might say I'm new around here," Quatre replied with a shrug. "Enlighten me."

Looking to one another, disbelief dark upon their brows, they uttered, "I can't believe that he doesn't know. I thought everyone who visits this town knew of the legend…"

"I'm waiting, gentlemen," Quatre snorted quietly.

"Alright then, sir. Relax, and listen to the tale."

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"A long time ago, there was once a castle here. This land was under the rule of a small duchy whose name and influence have long been lost under the weight of time. It was a calm and peaceful land, much as it is today, save that it rested under the protection of its castle and kingdom rather than the sway of the capital which lies so very far away.

"As it was in those days, clear distinction was present between each of the classes. The peasantry farmed these lands, producing the crops and dairies that this kingdom was noted for. The merchant class that lorded above the peasant farmers traveled the lands to trade their wares. The nobility taxed those who lived in their kingdom to support their own expenditures."

"I'm aware how the Middle Ages worked, gentlemen. I'm probably more schooled in their politics than you," Quatre interrupted. "Get to the legend you speak of."

Frowning, slight annoyance taking his brow, one man sighed. "Alright then.

"The noble family acted as most nobles do – remaining segregated from the common folk, unwilling to taint themselves by breathing the same air as the peasantry that flocked over their lands. Such was the general consensus amongst the family to remain away from those who dwelled in the countryside. But, there was one exception.

"The young princess of that family, Katrina as the legend names her, loved her people and would often sneak out of her family's castle to dwell among them for days at a time. She was a gentle young lass with bright golden hair and light blue eyes, with a smile that would glow as brightly as the sun on a hot summer day and the kindest disposition any noble that dwelled upon this earth could hope to have. She brought with her pence for the poor of the villages, cheerfulness for the downtrodden, and a kind, helping hand for those who needed such.

"She was loved by many, but none loved her so fiercely as Heero Yuy, an immigrant to these lands. Some say he came from the lands far to the East, some say from the darkness below, some say from the mists that surround the lands of the fey. None really know where this young man came from, nor do any really care – he was naught but another peasant, one who toiled and turned the land. He was a lonely young man, striving alone to make a living for himself in a foreign land, working the soil and producing as every other farmer produced. Indeed, he was nothing spectacular according to history – yet, he was able to catch the eye of the princess.

"Perhaps it was his foreign looks and disjointed tongue. Perhaps it was his lonely situation, family-less and exiled to a removed square of land to toil without company. No one rightly knows why, but the young princess Katrina was drawn to this man. Soon it came to pass that whenever she left the castle that was her home, she went immediately to those lands he worked to offer him company and the cooling touch of a wet towel across his shoulders.

"It was obvious to those who surrounded them what was developing between the two young persons. The peasant and the princess were falling in love.

"When news of this development reached the castle, the young princess' family was none too happy about it. Their precious princess, their only daughter, sporting favours with a peasant? Outrageous! So immediately, her availability for marriage was spread to all the neighboring kingdoms, and she was beset with suitors for legend of her beauty and grace was quite renown.

"The young lady was quite distraught when she was quite suddenly laden with potential suitors, each vying desperately for her hand. She did all she knew to do – she fled to the arms of her peasant love.

"He comforted her as well as he could, as rage slowly built within him at her family for daring to attempt to sell her off simply because she'd let her heart have its say. And with that rage came to him the most simple and logical solution to their problem. To remove her availability, to remove her perhaps even from her family would be the only way to keep her from greedy hands.

"He proposed to her that very night. She willingly accepted.

"They married in secret, wed by pagan ritual under the moonlight, and consummated their vows in the dark comfort of Heero's home. In happiness did they live until their location was given to the noble family by their neighbors.

"Under threat of death, the princess was returned to her family.

"When they found but two months later that her belly was swollen with child, her father's rage made itself known. And when she was questioned and she replied that her babe was legitimate by virtue of marriage to the peasant Heero Yuy, a manhunt was formed.

"Her husband was brought in without her knowledge, and wrongly charged with rape of the princess. Because their wedding had been conducted by pagan hands and not legitimized by the Church, it was considered null and void.

"She was not aware until nary a week later that he had been hung.

"The lovely Katrina had flown into a bout of depression never before seen in her fair character. It is said that she tried to end her own existence, sobbing hysterically that she would under no small circumstance leave this world to be reunited with her darling Heero."

Quatre scratched his chin, frowning. "I see. Very reasonable tale, very realistically drawn out. But where does this supposed 'ghost' fit into all of this?"

The villager who's been entertaining Quatre with the tale bowed his head. "When the princess had taken knife to hand in her bedchamber, it's said that it's then when his spirit first appeared; as he'd died an unjust and unintended death, his spirit remained bound to the soil he'd tended, his memory bound to hers. He appeared beside her, his visage sad and distraught, and told her not to end her life for only the darkness of the nether realm would welcome her then. Assuring her that he'd always be with her, he encouraged her to live, to bring their child into the realm of the living, to find happiness in their defiance of her family's will.

"She did as she was told, and found joy and happiness raising their babe, accompanied by the spirit of her lover in her dreams and in the darkness of the night.

"It's said that because she lived a righteous and loving life, her death upon the onset of old age did not bind her spirit to the realm of the living.

"Thus she passed on to the wonders of the afterlife, even as Heero's spirit remains here, bound eternally to these lands and mournfully seeking her out, unaware of her death and unable to accept the passage of time that has separated them forever."

The young doctor shook his head. "Quite an interesting story you have there."

"It is more truth than fiction, I do assure you," the villager said with a nervous nod of his head.

"Right."

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Trowa arched a brow as he looked down at his lover. "So the lands are haunted?"

"So they say. If you believe in that hogwash." Shaking his head, Quatre simply hiked the collar of his jacket up, attempting to block the chill of the darkening night from colliding with the sensitive skin of his neck.

"You're saying that you don't believe it? I mean, if this area truly is haunted-"

With a snicker, Quatre looked incredulously at his partner. "I pride myself as being a man of science, Trowa. Ghost stories and fanaticism aren't going to cause me any worry."

"And if it's real?" Trowa goaded on.

"Then I'll acknowledge that it's real. It's not going to bother me."

"How can you be so certain?"

"For the last damned time, I don't believe in this crap. It's not real. And if it happens to be so, then I'll acknowledge such and move on with my life. For God's sake, Trowa, will you stop being so ridiculous! Some little farce about a ghost isn't going to drive me away from my relaxation, alright? I came here to rest, and that's what I intend to do, ghost or no ghost."

"But-"

"Couch, Trowa."

"What!"

"You heard me. You're sleeping on the couch."

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Quatre grumbled as he pulled his nightshirt on. 'That damned Trowa… why to I put up with him? All he does is frustrate the hell out of me. Yeah, the sex is good, but still! I should tell him some time that it's him that's driving my blood pressure through the damned roof, and not my choice of profession or my living environment.'

Rubbing his eyes as he peered into the large oval mirror that took the west wall of his bedroom, he frowned. 'This was a bad idea. I should be at work, back in New York, seeing my patients instead of running amuck about the German countryside and playing medieval doctor to a bunch of country hicks that blabber about ghosts over their coffee.'

He stared into the mirror at his pale, grim reflection.

And gasped as he spotted a faint flicker of movement in the background right behind him, being able to clearly make out a tall, dark-haired, thin figure walking from the slightly-opened door towards the bed.

"Trowa! Didn't I tell you that you're on the couch?" he growled angrily as he whirled on his heel.

He stared.

The room was completely empty; the door still tightly closed and chained.

_tbc..._


	2. Chapter II

Disclaimers: Don't own Gundam Wing. Don't own idea. Just writing the fic.

Yes, that squiggly thing's still a line break.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

Quatre rubbed his forehead as he stooped over the large tome that laid sprawled open upon the desk before him, his eyes glazed and unfocused thanks to the wear of staring at the miniscule print of the book and the strain of having to translate the ancient, nearly forgotten German text into decipherable English. He'd been staring at the book for nearly three hours, attempting to verify the validity of the tales he'd heard leak from the villagers in the coffee houses around the small town concerning the duchy that had once ruled this remote region, the royal family that had lived in the castle who's ruins still existed there, and the fates of Katrina and Heero Yuy, the only daughter of that family and her peasant lover respectfully.

He was being haunted.

Three times now in the last four months that he'd been in Germany had he been visited by the specter who's tale flew from the lips of the townspeople he was surrounded by. The first time had been one night after its first reported appearance – the very day he'd arrived in the town he was required by his lover to refer to as 'home.' The appearance of the silent specter in his bedroom had shaken him considerably, nearly leading to one of the short-breathed panic attacks that were so severe they caused him to break into nervous sweats and forced his heart to skip beats that had originally been the cause of his agreement to follow Trowa's wild plan to move into the reclusive countryside of Germany to escape the stress that was apparently causing his health problems. Trowa had found him in the bedroom kneeling upon the floor before the mirror-toting dresser, hands clenched over his chest, skin clammy and lightly dotted with sweat, eyes huge with horror. Upon questioning his lover, all the brunette could get out of Quatre was, 'it wasn't you, was it?'

The second was five weeks later, taking place when he'd visited the ruins of the castle that once protected the lands upon which he now lived – Trowa had wanted to visit the site, being fascinated by the prospect of ancient history existing in his near vicinity as it did not back in New York. When Quatre had stumbled into the room that apparently had once been the living quarters of one of the noble family members he'd seen the specter again, catching a glimpse of the tall, dark-haired, pale form floating behind him as he wiped centuries of dust from a cracked looking glass. Yet another attack visited him, resulting in his elongated stay in the small hospital he referred to as his work place laying upon a bed instead of hovering over a patient upon that bed, an IV in his arm and sensors glued to his chest to regulate his fluid levels and monitor his irregular heart murmurs.

The third and worst had been barely five days ago, upon the supposed anniversary of the peasant lover of the princess' death.

Upon the anniversary of Heero Yuy's death.

He and Trowa had been walking through the town's square, heading towards the hospital. When Quatre had screamed in terror and drawn the attention of everyone who was in the center of the village they were beginning to call home, it had taken a sound slap across his face to shake his gaze from the empty green field that divided the road into a clear left and right side, splitting the downtown road with lush grass and park benches. Blinking once, eyes still wide with horror, he turned his gaze to Trowa, veritably screaming "don't you see it? Right there in the park! God, they hung him right there in the park!" Quatre had turned back after Trowa shook him roughly and snapped that there was nothing in the park and that he needed to come to his senses, blinking and softly whispering "but he was there a moment ago. Right there. He was swinging in the breeze…." After he breathed his quiet whimper, he'd passed out in Trowa's arms, body limp and lips slack.

Trowa had suggested that night when Quatre had regained consciousness that he take time off from work and seek professional assistance to rid him of these strange nightmares that had suddenly beset him.

Quatre had scoffed at the notion of seeing a psychiatrist, and decided to take it upon himself to discover exactly what kind of force it was that apparently wished to haunt and terrify him to death. And thus, leaving the comforting environment of his now familiar hospital work environment, he found his way into the quiet solitude of the town's lonely library and locked himself away in its musty corridors and dark passageways, sorting through centuries old tomes and crumbling parchment records of days and duties long since past.

His haunting experiences having all involved the tall, dark-haired man of legend – or so he thusly supposed by the fact that Heero Yuy was the only specter mentioned by the townsfolk – he began his search as logically as he could deduce to do so by seeking information about the peasant in question regarding to his life and station.

Search as he might, Quatre had yet to discover any record of the young peasant in any of the texts he had located. Tax records which dated back beyond the time of Katrina and her royal family which held within their pages the scrawled names of every man, every man's wife and every man's child did not once give the name 'Heero Yuy' nor mention any foreign man living upon the lands governed by the duchy. The land the villagers insisted he once farmed, the very land upon which his rented house sat, had no record of any owner during that era. Indeed, the Lady Katrina was recorded to have married a young suitor from the nearby barony known as Triton Bloom and her child was reported to have been his, contrasting starkly with the stories every person he'd interviewed had given him about the relationship between Heero and Katrina and their supposed lovechild.

Either the name and the man were a farce of a fairy tale dreamed up by the village as a whole, or this particular man had been written out of history.

The entire development had Quatre scratching his head to ward off frustration after frustration, cursing dead end after dead end, seeking answers and clues that even he was beginning to doubt even existed.

Trowa was worrying about him, Quatre knew. He was spending more and more hours in the dusty, ancient, lonely library than he was at home. He was neglecting his duties in the hospital, telling them each day that he'd return the following working period. He was losing weight, skipping meals to remain locked in the library's confines to research the mystery behind the ghost that was haunting his every waking moment. He was growing pale, seeming to become more translucent and fragile with every passing day.

But Trowa wouldn't worry much.

After all, as Quatre already suspected, he'd very likely already taken another lover.

He'd witnessed his companion chatting comfortably with a young lady who apparently went by the name 'Silvia' in the coffee house that sat across the street from the woodcraft store Trowa liked to frequent, speaking softly and intimately in French, attempting to hide their suggestive conversation from the ears of trespassers.

Quatre had silently listened, standing by the door. He'd just as silently left.

He'd suspected for quite some time that the young lady he'd seen from a distance was the reason his lover had so insisted on journeying to Germany, simply using Quatre's ill health as an excuse to make the trip.

Truth be told, Quatre had wanted to go to Saudi Arabia .

Instead, he was stuck in the German countryside, being haunted by a man who didn't appear in any of the historical records he'd been able to locate thus far, driven to the brink of a nervous breakdown and heart failure by forces he couldn't control and didn't want interfering in his already disjointed, stress-filled life.

It was in that library in the hours that stretched long after the other regular visitors to that lonely hovel of dust and words had returned to the sanctuaries they kept close to their hearts as that precious commodity called 'home' that he, still crammed in the building's dark recesses pouring over books, came across a possible lead for the information he so desired.

Dorothy Catalonia, who's daughter had married a man with the last name of Dorlain.

A possible tie to a young lady who lived near the outskirts of town, who was generally avoided by the village population under the suspicion that she practiced the dark arts of witchcraft.

Such superstition found no home in Quatre's heart, nor did it serve to conjure any fear. Rather, the vague mention of the family name in the ancient kingdom's court roster served to bolster his hopes that he could learn something about this being who seemed intent on torturing him to death by appearing bloodied and dead, swollen tongue filling a slack-jawed mouth and Prussian Blue eyes rolled back in almond-shaped eye sockets to stare at the top of a battered skull sporting soft brown hair that fluttered lightly in the breeze even as the limp body loosely swung back and forth, the timbers of the gallows creaking as the dead weight they supported shifted…

Quatre covered his eyes with his hands, whimpering softly in the darkness of the steadily settling night as the vision of what he'd seen in the town's square firmly established its presence at the forefront of his mind's eye.

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Walking with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes narrowed behind reflective black sunglasses, the blonde man glanced back and forth as he made his way along the winding thin trail that left the sanctity of the small town village to wander to the singular small home that supposedly resided at the dusty path's end.

It was an easy enough trial to follow, relieving any worry that he might possibly get lost out in the relatively small yet surprisingly imposing forest that he was surrounded by, the pale tan color of the dirt easily seen against the dark and lush green of the grasses that sprawled in all directions only to die off by that path and under the shade of massive reaching trees. Sunlight dappled along the path, flickering along his wandering black form, its gentle touch not enough to serve to heat him as he made his way through the relatively cool shade, his clothing's black coloration not having time to absorb the heat that poured from the daystar that hovered in the sky.

Black t-shirt and black jeans rustled as a playful afternoon breeze whistled by, graciously touching nearly unnaturally pale skin and tousling platinum blonde hair. It was an easy enough feel to lose oneself in, relaxing while walking the easy, nearly completely flat path to the not-so-frightening to the non-skeptic destination.

He opened his eyes as his feet scraped against not dirt but gravel and the mewing of cats leaked from the atmosphere around him. Calmly sliding his sunglasses from his face and folding them to stuff them into his back pocket, he glanced around to observe his surroundings.

The house was a small shack, looking to contain no more than two or perhaps three rooms, serviced by an outdoor open well for water and an outhouse which pointed at an obvious lack of indoor plumbing. Made of brick and mortar, it was nearly so overgrown with moss and covered with decayed plant material that it nearly blended in perfectly with its surroundings, its dark red coloration poking out from shades of brown and green at irregular intervals along its walls. Nestled amongst tall domineering trees and full, fluffy bushes, it looked right at home in the midst of the wild that was not so very far removed from the small hint of civilization the town but a couple of miles down the dusty trail lent to the area.

And it was crawling with cats.

Quatre took a moment to reflect that this supposed 'town witch' had at least met the ages old superstition of having more domesticated cats than any one person could hope to provide liter boxes for and would most certainly be evicted for in any high-rise apartment complex he lived in while back States-side.

Walking up to the door, he set his knuckles to it with a gentle rasping motion.

After minutes ticked by, he resorted to pounding roughly on the door.

He was greeted by a harried looking woman who'd practically ripped the old solid-wood door off its nearly rusted hinges in her desperation to see who it was so rudely rapping upon her door.

Looking her up and down, Quatre found himself a bit less than impressed. He'd expected more from a supposed witch.

The young lady who couldn't have been more than twenty five years of age stared at him with wide blue eyes framed with dark lashes dusted lightly with black mascara that peered out of a round, pale-skinned face. Her thin lips, coated with a shiny layer of lip-gloss, were turned down in a slight frown. High-set cheekbones carried upon them the faintest hint of powder blush. Her lithe body was covered with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans that fit nearly as tightly as a second skin. White tennis shoes tapped on the carpeted floor as her small hands found their ways to her hips, pink colored fingernails drumming at her waistline. "Well?" she began, her voice loud with irritation, "Would you mind explaining why you're pounding on my door?"

'Alright,' Quatre thought to himself, 'not the looks nor the expected aura of mysticism, but certainly the attitude. If her voice rasped, it'd be perfect.' Ridding his mind of his reflections, he crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared her down. "I was waiting for you to answer the door. You failed to reply to more polite knocking."

"I was busy in the back," she said with a sigh. "Sorry, then. What do you want of me? I haven't seen you around these parts."

"I'm new. Moved here about four months ago. And I want answers," he blurted, interrupting her before she could possibly interrupt him with questions concerning his move to the village down the dusty path from her.

"Answers, huh? And exactly what kind of answers are you seeking?" she questioned as she stepped away from the door to reenter the soothing darkness that was her living room.

Taking her actions as a gesture meant to goad him into the small shack's inner recesses, Quatre followed in her footsteps, making his way into the cluttered living room and stepping over a stray cat who looked at him indignantly for interrupting its mousy meal. Arching a brow at the animal, he continued to the nearby dusty couch and flopped ungracefully down into its cushions, raising a cloud of ages forgotten settlement that set him to sneezing violently.

"Sorry about that!" the young woman's voice rang from the entrance to the room that apparently lead to what he could discern to be the kitchen by the bright white tiles he saw behind her slight frame. "I haven't dusted in there for ages. Don't get any company to really have to worry about upkeep, as you can probably deduce."

Coughing to clear his lungs, he turned accusatory eyes to her. "Obviously. What, no mystic powers of deduction to see that you'd have a visitor here today and thus better prepare yourself?"

She simply arched a brow. "You don't believe in magic, do you?"

"I pride myself on being a man of science."

"Ah, I see! But yet you bring yourself to a believer in the Art to find answers? Could your science not find them?"

Snorting coldly, Quatre let his gaze narrow as he softly murmured his reply, "It did succeed. It lead me to the descendent of the one who might have had insight on to what occurred to bring me such hassles today."

"I see. Perhaps you should clarify this?"

"I'm being haunted."

The young lady chuckled quietly. "Haunted? But certainly you don't believe in ghosts, do you?"

Glaring icily, Quatre hissed, "Let's not begin on that rather touchy subject, Miss Relena. I still do not believe in ghosts, and shall not place any solid belief in their existence until I see something that lasts for more than a nightmarish blink or a dream before my waking eyes. Perhaps it's a simple psychosis that was brought on by the terrible little tales that float around the village down the path."

"About Heero Yuy, the peasant ghost?"

"Ah, so you know of him?" Quatre pushed, his glaring eyes hardening with dire intent.

Nodding once, seemingly oblivious to the dreadful threats that hovered behind the icy blue irises that made up the young man's eyes, Relena Dorlain cleared her throat. "It was partially because of him that my great ancestor, Dorothy Catalonia, found herself staked and burned in the town's center in a protest against the dark powers of witchcraft."

"I see. Explicate upon this, please."

Continuing calmly, she closed her eyes. "How much do you know of Lady Katrina and Heero Yuy?"

"Enough. I know of their relationship, of what came to pass of their coupling and their supposed 'pagan' marriage, and why he was hung. I have also been made aware by the people of the town that the peasant's ghost is the one that's frequenting this region."

"That is true," Relena said calmly, her eyes opening to show their brilliant aqua coloration to the rising rays of the sun. "He was murdered unjustly, blamed for a falsified raping of the princess that ruined her eligibility to be married in the eyes of her suitors. He was hung in the town's center; he was hung in the very place my ancestor was burned but five years later."

"So, whatever happened? I can understand the entire bitterness theory about his supposed remaining upon the plane of the living. However, I'd think that bitterness might have faded by now. This is no world for him, and certainly he must realize it. Would you not agree?"

"Oh, I would," Relena agreed as she nodded, "that he does not belong here and he should have faded ages ago. However, things simply aren't that simple. It's thanks to Dorothy's interference that he's still around this day."

"I see. Explain."

Folding her hands together, the young blonde woman leaned against a wall facing Quatre. "Dorothy Catalonia was a loyal servant of the duchy that was once the power that ruled this land. Serving in the royal court, she was the family's soothsayer and magician. She performed her duties to the best of her abilities, predicting when the droughts would come and go, what crops would be most plentiful and which of the family's neighboring kingdoms' merchants would be paying the most for their goods. They had no problems at all with her service, until the young Lady Katrina was found to be with child.

"Katrina was like a prized niece to Dorothy, having always clung to her during her youth and taken her as her role model to emulate as she grew up in her simple family role. Dorothy loved her small charge and cared for her as well as she could ever hope to do so without directly infringing upon the family's right to rule over her life. And thus, when it was found that she was with child and later found that her husband was murdered unjustly, it was Dorothy who took the most concern for the young Lady's health.

"It was she who bound Heero Yuy's soul to the Earth when she first heard the whispers of suicidal intent flow from the young Lady's lips. It was because of her interference that he was able to speak with the Lady once again and tell her to live on, to carry their child and bring it into the world, to raise it in defiance of her parents' wishes."

Arching a brow, Quatre softly interrupted, "I take it you have proof of this."

"I have a copy of Dorothy Catalonia's journal, if you'd so like to see it."

"That I would."

The young lady vanished from the room for a few moments. Loud bangs and crashes rumbled through the small shack for many a long stretch of a minute before she reemerged from the cluttered backspaces of her home, an ancient tome held in a grimy hand. "Here you are."

"Thank you." Taking the book, Quatre opened it and frowned. "It's going to be a bitch translating this," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Her eyes set upon him, Relena let a small smile take her lips. "Take it with you, then."

Raising his gaze, staring at her with shock completely evident upon his face, he gasped, "Are you certain? This is a family heirloom for you!"

"It's quite alright," Relena said softly before mysteriously adding, "I know it will be returned to me."

Staring at her incredulously for a moment, he shook his head before returning his gaze to the tome. "Would you mind continuing?"

"Very well, then. I'll continue with the catalyst that occurred after Dorothy captured his spirit." Clearing her throat, she sighed softly before beginning anew, "Lady Katrina lived happily for year after year, basking in the love of her child and of her husband, comforted by his spirit.

"But as things come to pass, his spirit began to slowly fade away. As her straits were bridged and her true need for him faded into naught but a waning desire for his presence by her side, his soul began to feel the tug of the circle of spiritual energy that encases the Earth calling him to retake its place. As he saw his place by her side fading, he was slowly letting himself be pulled to where he belonged.

"His decreased activity troubled the Lady more than anyone could have anticipated. Flying into a panic, she pleaded to Dorothy to assist her in any way she could. And so Dorothy did what she thought should be done – she bound the spirit of Heero Yuy to the castle itself. She wrote in her journal which you hold in your hand that she intended to scribe the spell to be used to free his wretched soul once the Lady passed from the realm of the living so he could rejoin her in the circle of life and death that envelops all so that her children if not she herself could cast it when the time was right."

"Does that spell exist?" Quatre whispered, the slightest hint of excitement in his voice.

"No," Relena said softly, her closed eyes blocking the view of his crushed face from her vision, "it doesn't. For not even a day after she'd cast that spell and bound Heero Yuy eternally to the stones of the castle that ruled over this land, a prediction of hers was found to lack total validity. So instead of thanking her for years of servitude and praising her abilities that had so well been catered to them over her term, they accused her of practicing the Dark Arts and had her burned at the stake as a symbol the public could hate and fear for the economic hardship that was brought onto the small duchy by the fact that she'd predicted that the price of grain would be higher than it actually was that year.

"So with the passing of Dorothy Catalonia was the spell forever lost. Thus for all eternity will that peasant be bound to the castle's stones, wailing in misery and eternally searching for his lovely Katrina seeking to comfort and hold her even though she has passed on. He is unaware of the world around him and unwilling to accept the march of time that has drummed around his dream world of nightmarish memories and tortured wishes that will never see fruition."

"You said he's bound to the castle, yes? Then why is he seen in the town?"

"Because," Relena said with a carefree shrug, "it is said that his spirit gains such strength in pure desperation in his search for her that on certain nights he is able to break free of that stony prison. On the night of his wedding anniversary, on the night that first saw his spirit free of his body, and…."

"And?" Quatre whispered softly, the horrifying fact that there was a third time he could be visited before the fall of the next year outside of that haunted, ruined castle eating away at his anxious heart.

"On the night his wife Katrina was stolen from his home, he returned from the fields to find her gone. He sought her desperately in the lands that surround this village before finally interrogating his neighbors to discover that she had been taken to the castle. That night, he marched to the castle's front gates, demanding that she be released as she was rightfully his wife. That night, he was taken by the guards and thrown into the dungeons below where he stagnated and rotted in the dank pits below the castle his spirit inhabits now before they finally tried him and murdered him."

"I see…."

"That night is tonight."

Taking a deep breath, Quatre tried to bring his vision back, blinking to ward away the sudden onset of blackness that had taken his eyes.

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Quatre weakly turned the doorknob and tossed the door open. "Trowa-dear, I'm home," he softly called, stepping into the dark house.

Silence met his ears.

Frowning, the blonde scoured the house to seek clues for his lover's whereabouts.

Upon finding the note taped into Trowa's private planner that he'd conveniently forgotten for the first time in his life and reading the message 'Date with Silvia: 8 PM. Be there!' Quatre hung his head and slowly left the house.

Braving the cold wind of the steadily darkening night that had met him when he'd finally come to and left the house of the kindly young woman who'd given him the journal of the duchy's soothsayer and a few herbal remedies to assist him with his panic attacks and hopefully calm the rapid decay of his condition, he hiked his collar up around his neck and faced the woods.

'He searches for her tonight, huh? First desperately seeking her over the lands around the village, then making his way to the castle….'

'He'll find me no matter what I do. Catch me by surprise like he has the last three times he's appeared.'

'Maybe this time I can catch this damned ghost by surprise. I'll meet him upon his own turf.'

Nodding once, his disjointed and completely absent logic making perfect sense at that moment in time in his scattered and befuddled brain, the blonde made his way through the grassy fields that surrounded his rented house, heading in the direction he so vaguely remembered the castle laying in.

He'd not made it three hundred feet before he'd caught the glimpse of movement to his left that denoted that he was being approached.

Turning, Quatre stared.

The pale, tall figure stared back, Prussian blue eyes shining in the bright moonlight, dark brown hair rustling in the breeze that blew through the plains to chill Quatre to the bone.

The blonde could only stare as the man in medieval peasant clothing approached him, a smile appearing upon his face even as his lips formed the work 'Katrina.'

"No…."

To Quatre's shock, the specter's next words fully met his ears, reverberating in them as firmly and realistically as any truly living being's projection of sound would.

The specter blinked a few times before bowing his head, his smile faint as he quietly said, "Your spirit has had a beautiful rebirth. Katrina, I've been searching for you for so long…."

The last thing Quatre could remember was the sensation of strong arms surrounding him, a soft voice calling his name in panic and true fear as his vision went black at his heart's solid pounding in his eardrums slowly faded to his own hearing, his extremities going numb.

"Katrina, what's wrong!"

"Katra…!"

"Quatre…!"

And Quatre knew nothing more.

_tbc..._


	3. Chapter III

Disclaimers: Don't own Gundam Wing. Don't own idea. Just writing the fic.

Yay! End of this little fic. Squiggly thing's a line break. Still. Yes, you have to deal with it for one whole more chapter.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

He slowly faded in and out of his dreamlike state, the world black then hazy then black again before his staring eyes. His blood burned in his veins, searing next to icy cold flesh that was overrun with beaded sweat droplets and goose bumps. His breath erupted into his lungs in short, harsh bursts, each gulp of the atmosphere's sweet, pollen-laced mix scraping roughly down his dry throat. His heart pounded violently in his ears, every beat fast and strong and flooded with panic as it raced like a beaten horse straining for the end of its life-determining race.

Then all came to a stop.

Vision swirling, Quatre's mind seeped in the dance of colors that splayed itself across its surface, watching image after image swell forth from the confusing array of light and sound. He watched himself – no, her – as Heero enveloped his arms around him/her. He stared as they whispered proclamations of love to one another, cradled in one another's embrace, head resting upon shoulder and hearts beating as one. A moment, a breadth of immeasurable time in the span of eternity, a lifetime of thoughts and dreams and desires and emotion rocketed by at light speed, each precious vision held by tenuous strings of barely recalled reality to Quatre's consciousness. He watched his life – her life – play itself out before his eyes; a life filled with love and happiness, with warmth and companionship, without a care save for ensuring the happiness of self and family. A life he wished desperately to return to, a life he longed to experience in this day and age, a life he would give anything to reclaim.

His memory swam in fond recollections of days spent by the lake that was enveloped by the lands Heero Yuy tended over a millennia ago. His skin blushed at the ghostly reminiscence of gentle touches, of teasing caresses, of tight embraces, of tender kisses and soft attentions. His heart staggered a step as the warmth of a love not ever known by his modern mind filled it once more, carrying upon it the whispers of promises to continue that love for all of eternity.

He shivered as he heard the ghost's voice, ever familiar and strangely calming, call his name almost in panic.

He tried to reach out to the specter, but found himself unable to move. His eyes registered naught but the black cast upon them by his eyelids even as the thudding of his heart faded from his ears, his cooled skin losing the flush his memories and his realization that it was a past love that held him now had brought to it.

Quatre lost all awareness of the world as his last breath left his body, leaving him laying lifeless in the plains just outside of town.

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Beep.

A small whimper made its way from the depths of his throat.

Beep.

The loud noise was hurting his ears.

Beep.

Slowly opening his eyes, he glanced about himself to attempt to locate the source of that harsh, loud beeping noise.

Quatre slowly came to realize that the beeping that had echoed in his aching skull was the beep of a cardiograph that was stationed beside his bed. His eyes traced the wires that drooped from the plugs in the front of the machine to find the suction cups that were firmly taped to his skin, their touch unfelt until his vision confirmed their existence.

The scent of medicated, stale air leaked into his lungs, seeping past the feeding and air tubes that were eased into his body through his nostrils. Slowly clenching his hand, he winced as he felt the presence of an IV needle shift in his thin veins.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, calming breath.

He was in a hospital. Someone had found him out in that field. After that….

After THAT had occurred.

He still didn't know what to think about the encounter. A part of his mind was screaming fervently that such an encounter could never have taken place and that ghosts simply didn't exist. The rest of his mind retorted violently, screeching that he had not only been spoken to by the roving spirit but had been touched – embraced – by it. It simply had to be a real encounter that part of his mind rationalized, or he wouldn't be in possession of the memories that now raced through his skull.

Quatre sighed as those memories danced before his closed eyes once more.

How could he have recollections of her life?

Why had they only surfaced now?

Was it part of some near-death experience?

Was it all a fantasized story brought on by his attack and by his nearly morbid fascination with the tale of Heero Yuy and Katrina?

Or was all of it real?

He shivered as he pondered that last question.

If it was real, that would mean that he was….

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Quatre calmly walked towards the small shack, having finally convinced the doctor that ran the small hospital that he was more than well enough to be discharged from its confines. Lifting a hand, he lightly rasped on the door.

"Yes?" a voice leaked from the darkness within, seeping past the closed orifice.

"I wanted to thank you," Quatre humbly muttered to the door, closing his eyes. "The town's doctor told me that you were the one who brought me in."

The door swung open, revealing the young dark-blonde haired woman. A faint smile marked her lips. "No need to thank me, sir."

"How did you know to look for me?" Quatre asked quietly, opening his eyes to regard the woman before him. "After all, Miss Relena, I never told you of my plans to confront that spirit."

"I figured you'd attempt something. I wanted to accompany you… to help."

"Do you know how to free him?" the young man asked solemnly, his voice tired.

"I might, but I'm not certain it would actually work. It's a spell that would free him from the castle, but he'd be left without guidance even after he'd be released, so I'm certain it wouldn't do any good without him having a guide," Relena admitted with a sigh. "But I wanted to meet this ghost face to face. So very few actually see him in passing, much less see him regularly. Most of those who witness his existence see him once, or simply hear his sighs and cries for Katrina upon the wind."

"I see," Quatre blandly snorted.

"Oh please, don't take such a tone with me," the young woman playfully said with a grin. "But after I found you weren't home," she began anew, reverting to the subject previously touched upon, "I started towards the castle. I figured you'd want to find him and resolve this 'haunting' issue yourself."

"Pun intended?"

"Not really," she said with a chuckle. "So, you did see him? Is that what made you…"

"No. I have those attacks regularly. I doubt seeing him is what made me collapse."

"So you DID see him!" she excitedly proclaimed. "Oh, that's simply wonderful! It means that there still might be a chance for me to see him myself! Maybe I should head to the castle tonight, yes? His spiritual energy might still be strong enough for him to be visible, seeing as how it's still so close to the date on which he normally appears!"

"Yeah…." Quatre softly whispered, his eyes closing as memories of a life long over passed before his vision.

Relena regarded him curiously as his cheeks lighted with a faint blush.

"Yeah."

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

It wasn't until that night that Quatre realized just how empty and quiet the house he was sharing with Trowa truly was.

He was quite accustomed to his companion not being present when he returned to the house they referred to as home. Even now that he knew the reasoning behind Trowa's absence, he didn't press the issue. After all, they weren't married and by all legal right never could be. He felt he had no real place to regulate Trowa's life.

It wasn't until that night that Quatre felt pain in his heart when thoughts of Trowa crossed his mind.

He had wanted love in his life so terribly he could taste it with every passing moment. His personality drove most suitors away, his biting cynicism and overly analytical view of all that passed before him too harsh and overbearing for most men he found himself interested in to take. His bitterness and sarcasm kept women at bay. His violent mood swings and stress-driven insults drove away those who could manage to find their way around the acid personality that took root in his scientifically questionable soul. His loneliness only served to heighten his anger and caustic disregard of care for those people who surrounded him, resulting in a seemingly never ending cycle of tears and denial.

He'd thrown himself blindly into Trowa's arms at his first opportunity, taking the man's fascination with him as being the closest semblance to love a person such as himself could ever manage to find. It was empty and one way, Trowa's caring for him being deep and true but not being the all intensive fantasy that Quatre had always envisioned love as being and his own opinion of Trowa placing him upon a veritable pedestal, untouchable and untamable. He'd been dreaming that the man truly loved him, wanting and praying for it to be so, realizing only with his discovery of Trowa's true reasons for coming to the European continent that while he perhaps was not a tool or a means to an end that he was not Trowa's ideal partner.

It wasn't until that night that Quatre cried himself to sleep, his mind seeping in the inadequacies of his current life and wishing he could return to the arms of the true love his spirit had once known.

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Quatre awoke when he was gently shaken. Lifting his gaze, he blinked, staring vaguely at his brunette lover. "Trowa?" he quietly whispered, rubbing a sleep-glazed eye.

"Yes, Quatre. It's me," he softly replied, gently gathering the frail blonde into his arms.

A small frown marked the diminutive man's lips. "Why are you here? Why aren't you off with your Silvia?"

Trowa winced visibly.

"I figured that's why you wanted to come to Germany. She's the woman you met online, isn't she?"

Bowing his head, Trowa frowned. "It's not what it seems. We're not going to delve into anything serious."

"You just felt like coming to Germany to meet an internet friend?" Quatre softly stated, his voice neither forgiving nor accusatory.

"Quatre, you need the relaxation. And I figured-"

"This would be a good way to kill two birds with one stone?"

Trowa's mouth opened as he apparently wished to say something, then closed helplessly as no single word could make it from his whirring mind to pass his lips.

"It's alright, Trowa," Quatre said quietly as he backed out of Trowa's arms, taking note that it was well past dawn, the sun having risen quite high into the sky and the morning racket the birds by the lake usually rocketed with to claim their daytime territories had long since fallen into nearly uninterrupted silence. "It's alright."

"You're accusing me of-"

"Nothing," Quatre interrupted, shaking his head. "Maybe you and I just weren't meant to be. Maybe coming here was the right thing to happen; maybe we were meant to come, so you could meet with your future while I could meet my past and experience what I truly have desired my entire life."

Trowa stared, his green eyes huge as the blonde smiled beatifically and made his way towards the door. "Quatre…."

"Stay, Trowa. Leave me be. As you seek the love you long for, I seek the love I lost."

"What do you mean? You're talking madness!" Trowa blurted.

"Madness?" Quatre softly whispered, one brow arching over an eye.

"Yes. This ghost… this haunting… it's killing you. It's killing you in body and mind," Trowa mourned.

"Perhaps. But this ghost is part of me. This haunting is part of my life. It is my life. It's calling me to return to what I lost, to find happiness in its arms and love in its kiss. And if it's driving you mad to watch me slip into this apparent madness you accuse me of…"

Trowa blinked, guarding his reaction as Quatre scrutinized him for any movement.

"Leave me to this haunting, Trowa. Leave me to my shades. Find your life, and leave me to find mine, to find the one I lost and desire to return to."

His hands dropping to his side, Trowa found himself unable to move a single step as the blonde slipped away, his purposeful step carrying him out the door and bearing towards the towering ruins of the town's crumbled castle of days long past.

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Quatre calmly stood before the ruined castle, his eyes half opened as he took in the magnificence of the stone structure. Turning on his heel, he stared down the path that lead towards the plains that surrounded the house he had shared with Trowa and the village that rested beyond.

'I'm here, as you want. I'm here as I wish to be. I've finally found the courage to walk down this road.'

'I'm finally ready to follow this path.'

He shivered as he felt soft fingers caress his cheek, felt his heart leap within his chest and pound violently through his memory-laden skull. Closing his eyes fully, he sighed quietly. "Heero, I'm no longer Katrina. You know that. You can sense that. You can see that."

Quatre was not surprised when he heard the soft, masculine voice whisper in his ear, "I am aware."

"Then why do you do this?" the blonde softly asked, eyes still closed, kneeling down to seat himself as his worn heart skipped a beat, the medication he'd been prescribed to assist his condition having long since worn out of his bloodstream, leaning his face towards the soft, persistent touch.

"Your soul is the same."

"Even though I'm Quatre, and not Katrina?"

"I still love you."

"Our souls are bound together, aren't they?"

"For eternity."

"I want to join you."

When no word met his ears, Quatre cracked open one eye and turned his head. He stared into the sad Prussian blue eyes, letting the frown his lips desired to form fall upon them.

"That doesn't please you, Heero?"

"You seek to end your life? To banish yourself to the fires your religion believes await those who take God's role and destroy his most precious gift?"

A quiet laugh leaked from the blonde, its tone weak and weary. "I don't have to. It will end of its own accord."

'Isn't that what you said, Relena? You could free him, but he'd be left without guidance even after he'd be released? Then maybe I could… and maybe we'd both finally be free of our sorrow, of our wailing and longings, free to have the happiness we were both robbed of by the passing of time. I know you're down that path and that you're there watching, young witch. Please, have the mercy to allow him follow….'

"But when I do pass," Quatre softly whispered, his breath slowly leaving him as his racing heart staggered in its rapid run, "promise me that you'll follow me."

"Follow…?"

"Follow me."

The ghostly young man laid beside the blonde as he crumpled to the ground. Reaching tenuously, he laid his shaking hand upon Quatre's brow, tears forming in long dead eyes as the slowly cooling flesh's receding warmth caressed his spirit.

Heero slowly stood, and stared.

White wings spreading wide, their brilliance blinding and so bright that they lit the land about them as the sun's kiss would, a gentle smile found its way towards the small spirit. And as Heero stared, the sweet voice softly whispered in his mind, 'Follow me. The promenade to fate awaits.'

"Alright."

_fin_


End file.
